A Funeral for Fangs
by LittleMonsoon
Summary: After waking up one morning to discover that her beloved pet bat Fangs has died, Lucy takes it upon herself to organize his funeral.
1. Chapter 1

Lucy awoke one morning with a leathery wing spread out across her face.

She smiled, eyes still shut but mind awake, in that swirly sort of space between sleep and consciousness where one couldn't always be sure where dreams ended and reality began. The feel of the wing on her cheek, however, was certainly real. She knew at once it could only be her pet bat Fangs. He often liked to squeeze his way through the opening of Lucy's coffin bed in the mornings to cuddle with the girl. And hidden away in the darkness of her casket, nobody could see her smile or hear her laugh as they snuggled together. What a shame it was that he was nocturnal, and their waking lives only intersected for a few hours each day. She liked to think that made what time they did have together more special.

She never understood why most people were so terrified of the creatures; with his big eyes and ears, Lucy always thought Fangs was adorable. A bit like if the family's pet hamster sprouted wings and had black fur instead of brown. Not that she would ever say so out loud, of course. It wouldn't be very goth of her to describe something, even Fangs, as cute. Still though, as she gingerly hugged him, she couldn't help but lament how unfair it was that so many, even those in her family, viewed bats with disgust, despite them being no more evil than any other animal. She supposed bats and her had that in common. Dark and macabre, yes, but also misunderstood. It was a small comfort to know that she and Fangs, at least, appreciated one another for who they were.

Lucy petted him for several moments, still too groggy from her early rise to truly notice how limp he was as she handled him. Finally she lifted the lid of her bed and stood up, doing what she always did and crossing her arms as she rose in imitation of many of the vampire movies she'd seen.

As she had done countless mornings before, she held Fangs up to her shoulder, waiting to feel the light scrape of his claw as he climbed up her shirt to perch there. Then she could go make breakfast and perhaps cut up a banana for Fangs to enjoy as a treat. But when Lucy brought him to her shoulder on this morning he did not shift from her grasp at all, and it hit her how she couldn't feel a pulse or the rise-and-fall of his chest as he breathed in and out.

"Fangs?" she said, quietly so as to not wake Lynn. She expected all of a sudden for him to suddenly spring to action, as though he were only asleep and just needed to be roused. Then she noticed that his eyes were open even as he remained still, and Lucy knew then without question that Fangs was dead.

The realization hit her harder than she expected. After all, she thought of death often, far more than was normal for an eight year old girl. But for reasons she couldn't fathom seeing Fangs' lifeless frame sitting in her palm gave her a feeling like her insides were being shattered. For an instant she couldn't breathe, her throat seeming to close up. Then all of a sudden the breaths came heavy, inhaling and exhaling at a frantic rate as water pooled in her eyes. She pressed her finger to his chest and shook it back and forth, half-hoping she could restart his heartbeat, but quickly gave that up.

"Goodbye, Fangs," she whispered to him, "I will see you in the next life." A grim joke entered her mind, and she couldn't help but turn to face the stone vampire bust on her nearby shelf and say it out loud. "Looks like you're my only friend left on this side of eternity, Edwin," she said, "At least I won't have to worry about you ever dying. You were never even alive to begin with."

From behind her she heard Lynn's body shift on her bed, followed by a mighty yawn as she awoke. Lucy dared not turn around, lest her sister see her loss of composure. Even considering the tragedy of the morning, she still had a reputation she wanted to uphold, that of the "duchess of darkness," to borrow Lynn's phrase. She began taking deep, slow breaths, and after ten or so she started feeling relatively calm again. Luckily all her tears remained welled up in her eyes, and thus covered by her long bangs. Lynn wouldn't be able to notice them.

"'Morning, Lucy," Lynn's voice sounded behind her. No answer followed. Lucy only stayed still, clutching Fangs' body to her chest. "Everything alright?"

"Fangs died in the night," Lucy answered bluntly. She didn't trust herself to speak in longer sentences without losing control again and outright sobbing. Immediately the sound of bedsprings creaking echoed through the room as Lynn got out of bed and stood at her sister's side.

"Geez Luce, I'm really sorry. You okay?" Lynn said, though to Lucy she didn't sound it, not truly. Sure, she may have been making an effort to console her, but Lucy had it in the back of her head that it was only false sympathy. Lynn and Fangs never got along. He was always nibbling on her and drawing blood and dropping disgusting bombs of guano upon her belongings. If anything, Lucy figured, Lynn was probably happy Fangs was dead, and was likely waiting for Lucy to leave the room so she could celebrate in private, without having to worry about being in poor taste. Still, hollow as she was sure they were, Lucy supposed that Lynn's words had to count for something. A cold comfort was a comfort nonetheless.

"I'm fine."

An awkward silence followed, broken a few seconds later by Lynn speaking up again, her voice having an air of strained positivity. "Hey, maybe later you can have one of your seance things. That way you can still talk to him."

How typical for Lynn to misunderstand and oversimplify the dark arts that meant so much to her. Lucy knew that only those that died with some part of their lives left unresolved stuck around as spirits, to be communicated with by means of crystal ball and seance. There was no way, Lucy was sure, that Fangs' ghost would be hanging about in the mortal realm, not after Lucy made certain that she had given him a fulfilling life. No, Fangs was flapping about on some celestial shore somewhere, waiting for her to join him many long years down the line. Rather than explain all this out loud, no doubt only for Lynn to forget about it within the hour, Lucy merely said, "that won't work," and left it at that.

"…Okay. Well, if you change your mind, I could help you set one up."

"I would, however," Lucy continued, "like to invite you to a funeral."

* * *

By the time Lucy was eight years old, she had transformed the backyard of the Loud house into a graveyard.

Animal corpses littered the underground, buried away in little makeshift coffins crafted from shoeboxes and the like. Former pets mostly, often Lana's, though Lucy didn't discriminate. Even the dead mice that Cliff would on occasion drop at her feet like gifts would be given a proper burial. Part of it was a true belief that every once-living being deserved a place of eternal rest, part of it was that she once saw _Pet Cemetery_ and couldn't help but be inspired, and part of it was pure and simple planning for her future. After all, If she was to be a funeral director one day, she might as well get in as much practice as possible while she was young. And she already had a lot of practice. Besides, everybody, including her siblings, deserved to feel a sense of closure. She liked to think that was what her funeral services provided; closure for the living, and rest for the dead.

The only downside as far as she could see was that she was running out of space. After placing his body in a box and sticking it in the freezer for temporary storage before the funeral, Lucy walked along the grass, surveying the yard for possibilities as to where her beloved Fangs could sleep eternally, but every worthy prospect was already occupied. Her parents, knowing how likely it would be for any of their children to trip over one while playing in the yard, disallowed Lucy from placing any tombstones, but she had memorized over the years every location of every dearly departed animal. There lay Rowlf, one of Luan's former show bunnies, who tragically died after a magic trick gone wrong as Luan was performing at a birthday party, over by the back stairway. There lay Susie Q, Lana's first pet chameleon, who passed peacefully away in her sleep at the ripe old age of four, near the fence. And so on and so on.

She continued to look, not wanting to just pick any old place that was free. After all, Fangs was her loyal companion for years, and he deserved a resting place of honor. That's when it hit her. All of a sudden it was painfully obvious where was the perfect place to bury him. Under the shade of the tree where they first met. It was only appropriate, she reasoned, that his exit from her life match his entrance in some way.

She went to the garage to grab a shovel and returned to the yard to start digging a grave near the trunk of the tree. It was an activity she had become well acquainted with over the years. All she had to do was press the tip of the blade an inch or so into the dirt, kick down her foot on one of the shovel treads till the whole of the metal was driven into the ground, then fling the resulting shovelful over her shoulder. And thus she did, over and over again and again in a steady rhythm.

Press. Kick. Fling. Press. Kick. Fling. The process became automatic, something she didn't even have to consciously think about, as if she were an animatronic with these actions as her only programmed movements. As the soil flew above her head, her mind couldn't help but wander. Given the day's events, she found herself thinking back to the night she and Fangs first met so many years ago.

Unable to sleep one night, she went downstairs for a drink of water when she heard a rapid flapping and high-pitched squeaking coming from outside. Looking out the kitchen window, she saw a bat, looking rather like some kind of nightmarish moth darting about in the blue light of the moon, flying around the tall oak in the yard before going to one of its branches to hang.

At that age she half believed it to be a vampire taking on an animal form, much like how they did in the Gothic literature and old horror films she loved. She walked out the back door to investigate, going to the tree and staring up at the bat, waiting for it to return to its human shape.

"Are you a vampire?" she asked after so many moments of silence, her voice taking on the same awestruck tone most children used when asking a mall Santa if he really was the true Saint Nick. The bat only clung to its branch, silently shrouded in its wings. "It's okay if you are. I won't drive a stake through your heart or anything like that."

This time the bat seemed to briefly perk up its ears, but otherwise stayed still. Disappointed, Lucy started walking back to the house when she felt a sudden weight pressing on her shoulder. Turning her neck she saw the creature sitting there, looking at her with curious eyes before reaching over to gently lick her cheek, the sandpapery tickle of its tongue inspiring a giggle from the young girl. It crawled along her, clinging to Lucy's nightshirt then onto her skin as it moved from her shoulder down her arm and eventually settling into her hand, where she commenced lovingly petting its soft fur. And even though it was painfully obvious at that point that it was no vampire in disguise, feeling its calm heartbeat under her fingers was enough to cure Lucy of her disappointment.

It was a difficult process convincing her parents to let her keep him, but eventually they relented. Several shots from a local veterinarian later, Fangs was allowed to join the family as perhaps their most unusual pet, though really only Lucy took care of him. The others seemed frightened of him at first, and their dislike for him seemed to only intensify once it became clear what a troublemaker he could be with the way he would knock things over or harass her siblings. Unintentionally, of course. Lucy was always quick to explain that he was only playing whenever he, for example, flew around somebody's head like a demon, shrieking all the while. It struck Lucy as hypocrisy of the highest caliber that they should despise Fangs for such things, yet adore Charles despite the dog's tendency towards scratching the furniture or using the floors as his toilet.

So Lucy became the only member of the Loud house Fangs became truly close to, yet another example of her being the odd one out. The intervening years were spent playing with him in her room, watching him take flight and hunt mosquitoes in the cool summer night air during their long outdoor walks, and holding out to him little cubes of fresh cut strawberries in her fingers and cooing lovingly as he nipped them from her grasp and greedily ate them, her pretending that the juice from the fruit morsel dripping down his mouth was blood and he had just finished turning some lucky mortal into an undead minion under his vampire sway…

She dropped the shovel to the ground as she fell on her knees and tears ran down her cheeks and landed in the dirt before her, where in her grief she briefly imagined that they would water the soil to the point where fresh plants would sprout up. How nice it would be, she thought, if Fangs' essence could be absorbed into some beautiful flowers growing over his grave, life energy being transferred in a cycle of decay and rebirth.

Tears still flowing, Lucy gazed into the hole to check her progress. Only about half a foot deep so far. More of a wide indentation than a hole, really. It made no sense to her. Every other grave she had ever dug was finished within minutes. Of course, never before had her digging been interrupted by sobbing breaks.

"Hi Lucy."

Hastily she wiped her sleeve across her face, soaking up as best as she could the tears that stained her cheeks. Once dry, she turned and saw Lana standing behind her, a sad pout on her face as she rubbed nervously at her elbow.

"Hi Lana," Lucy said. A faint crack could be heard in her voice, though Lana didn't seem to notice. Or if she did, she made no comment.

"Lynn told me what happened to Fangs," the younger girl said. "I'm really sorry. I know what it's like to lose a pet. I remember how sad I was when my old frog Seymour died." Lucy also remembered well. All throughout the funeral and for hours after Lana bawled her eyes out. In the ensuing days on occasion Lana's whimpering would echo through the upstairs. And though the house was always filled with noise of one type or the other, the sound of Lana's crying in such a vulnerable state seemed to posses the magical ability to cut through the chaos of the Loud house and reach her sisters' and brother's ears with no problem, beckoning them to come to her room to comfort her. It seemed to Lucy in those days that every time she passed by the twins' door she saw Lana being cradled in somebody's arms as she sobbed into their chest.

Lucy didn't expect such things for herself, for the others to come rushing to her aid in times of duress, even if she were to cry out in the open. After all, Lana was friendly and cheerful and good-natured and all those other qualities that Lucy felt in her heart that she lacked. Not at all was Lana like the weird and gloomy girl that now struggled to give her one close friend a proper resting place.

Knees shaky, Lucy turned back to reach for the shovel again, hoping that Lana would see that she was busy and let her return to her work in peace. Instead, Lana walked over and looked at the meager excuse for a hole, watching the worms writhe in the small patch where the top layer of grass had been flung away. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Digging a grave. Service is at three. You're welcome to attend."

"I'll be there. Do you want some help?"

It was a tempting offer, but one Lucy had to decline. Lana was a far better digger than she was, practically mole-like in the way she could move soil around. But Lana also loved to play around in the dirt. No doubt she'd turn what was meant to be a solemn ritual undertaken with a heavy heart into a game of some sort. Fangs needed to be shown the proper respect. Lucy wanted every lift of the shovel to weigh heavy, if only to show that he was worth the effort.

"No thank you, I can manage."

"Okay. If you need anything, just ask and I'll be there for you." With that, Lana walked back into the house, and Lucy turned her focus back to the task at hand, digging with renewed intensity, hacking her way through roots as she dug deeper and finishing as quickly as she could. In the end she had to admit it wasn't her finest work, a slapdash rush job that was artless and uneven, but such were the concessions she had to make if she wanted it done on time before another crying spell could rear its head. Besides, she figured that it didn't really matter how nice the hole looked, just as long as it fit the coffin.

After all, it would only be filled again by the end of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

Though she saw to it to invite everyone, when three o'clock rolled around Lucy couldn't help but feel surprised at the turnout. All of her siblings were there, sitting in the backyard in mismatched chairs scrounged up from the various rooms inside the house. They must not have had anything better to do that day, Lucy figured, besides show up. Their expressions were uniformly solemn. Lola was even pressing a handkerchief to her eye to blot away a single droplet of moisture before it could cause her makeup to run, and Lucy couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at her little sister. She always was a melodramatic one, that Lola. No doubt she saw the funeral as a big excuse to show how loudly she could wail and make herself the center of attention. Didn't she realize, Lucy asked herself, that this was supposed to be Fangs' day?

At least they all had the decency to wear black; the previous year they all had to attend the calling hours for one of Pop-pop's close friends, and their parents insisted on getting them all proper mourning clothes, simple black dresses and, for Lincoln, a suit. Lana and Lynn especially seemed uncomfortable in their clothes. Dresses were usually foreign territory for them.

It would have been redundant to buy any such garments for Lucy, however. Not only was her closet filled to the brim with goth clothing the likes of which she wore everyday, but she had a particular affinity for an old widow's gown she found buried deep one day in a chest in the attic, no doubt one of Great Grandma Harriet's. It's what she wore as she stood near the open grave under the tree, Fangs' shoebox casket with a white cross drawn on the lid at the bottom of the hole and a mound of dirt nearby. A dark veil, attached to a simple black velvet hat, curtained over her face. She brushed it aside with her hand, revealing an expression that was hard and pale and without emotion, as though etched in white granite.

After a brief clearing of her throat, she was ready to begin.

"We have gathered here today to say goodbye to a beloved pet..." She began, then paused. There it was again. That choking feeling in her throat. She had an eloquent homily all planned out in her mind, yet now she found her mind blank. Well, not exactly blank. One image did appear in her thoughts, that of Fangs and his smiling face staring back at her as he perched on her arm, his wings flapping up and down in excitement. That grin, so toothy, that provided his namesake, was all she could suddenly think about.

She noticed then that her sisters and brother were leaning forward a bit in their seats, and she could feel the pressure to say something, anything. That's when she remembered that when ordinary words failed, poetry could speak volumes.

She took a small notebook from her pocket, flipping to the final page where something was scrawled. "I have written a poem for the occasion. It's called My Only Friend."

She read aloud what was written on the paper:

 _My only friend was a black furred beast  
_ _Who's spirit now his body released  
_ _He's gone but not forgotten  
_ _His death has left me feeling rotten  
_ _An empty pit; I have to quit  
_ _My life was misbegotten  
_ _I'll miss you Fangs_ _I'm sad you died  
_ _All that's left is for me to sigh_

 _My only friend_

Silence followed. Looking up from her book she saw puzzled expressions upon the faces of her siblings as their eyes shifted around, exchanging troubled glances with one another. It was clear to her that they didn't like it. When she thought about it, it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Admittedly it wasn't one of her best pieces of writing, but even if it were it wasn't out of the ordinary for her family to look down on her poetry. She had hoped that at least on this occasion they'd have better masked their contempt. Apparently not. Faced with this, Lucy did what she always did when disappointed; sigh. It was all she had the energy for.

She thought it time to wrap the proceedings up. Then she could return to bed and get used to how cold and empty it felt without Fangs there to cuddle. Only one part of the funeral remained. "Before we return him to the earth, does anybody else have anything to say?" It was a question asked only out of formality. The absolute last thing she expected was for Lynn to rise from her chair, clutching a wrinkled sheet of paper in her hands, and come to stand next to her under the tree.

She spoke nervously, eyes averting Lucy's gaze. "We, um, all wrote a poem too," Lynn said, "Together. It won't be as good as any of yours, but we all had some stuff we wanted to get off our chests. As your roomie, we figured I should be the one to read it. It's called Farewell Fangs."

Stunned into silence by the gesture, Lucy could only nod to her sister, giving her the go ahead.

Lynn wasn't well versed in reading verses aloud outside of the classroom, so as she read her hands, so much more suited for physical activities like catching footballs and gripping baseball bats, shook and her voice stuttered here and there.

Still, she was loud and clear as she spoke:

 _You terrorized Lori and you didn't care  
_ _You tangled yourself up in Leni's hair  
_ _You drove Luan_ batty _, and Lincoln as well  
_ _You came after Luna like Meat Loaf's bat out of hell  
_ _You bit me and sucked my blood when thirsty  
_ _You crapped on my signed LaMarr Woodley jersey  
_ _You scratched Lana's pets and Lola's stuffed bears  
_ _You spilled Lisa's chemicals; Gave Lily nightmares_

If this was supposed to make Lucy feel better, it was doing an abysmal job at it. It was as though she were being confronted out loud with all those things she already felt in her heart; that the others hated Fangs, that he was only a nuisance to them all, and that by extension Lucy was to blame for introducing him into their lives. She even caught hint of a joking tone in the writing, no doubt at Luan's influence. Rather than mourning Fangs, they were rejoicing in his demise.

Sadness gave way to anger. Midway through the poem Lucy realized her fists were clenched, tight enough to where her nails were digging into her palms and nearly piercing the skin. And in her rage she knew that if she were to take on Lynn in a fight, she'd win.

To her surprise though, Lynn kept going:

 _You did all these things, and other things too  
_ _So you might have thought that we hated you  
_ _But we loved you Fangs, and I'll tell you why  
_ _Why we were so sad to have heard that you died  
_ _Because we all saw the way you made Lucy smile  
_ _Though she tried to hide it like it wasn't her style  
_ _Her beautiful grin is a most precious thing  
_ _Especially when inspired by her friend with black wings  
_ _I don't know much about the great beyond  
_ _But you and my sister shared a special bond  
_ _So I know that wherever you are right now  
_ _Maybe in Heaven; you're looking down  
_ _You'll see her smile more as she grows through the years  
_ _Though I'm sure there will be a fair share of tears  
_ _We'll all do our best to inspire her to smirk  
_ _Just like you did; we will carry on your work  
_ _You made our sister happy, and for that we say thanks  
_ _We hope you rest in peace forever; farewell Fangs_

Poem finished, Lynn looked up from her paper to see Lucy's reaction, a nervous smile on her face as she awaited some sign of her approval. It was usually difficult to gage Lucy's feelings about most things; considering that most viewed eyes as windows into the soul and Lucy's were always covered by hair, Lynn had to rely on interpreting other parts of her little sister's visage. By the look of Lucy's now slack jaw that hung open in shock and her quivering lower lip, Lynn was certain that the poem had at least some emotional effect.

After a moment of silence, finally Lucy spoke, her voice wavery. "You all wrote that… for Fangs?"

"Well, yeah, for you and Fangs both," Lynn said. "It was Luan's idea."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Luan piped up. "When Rowlf died, your funeral for him really made me feel a lot better. It gave me this real sense of... I dunno, I guess closure is the word. I remember you wrote him this really lovely poem and I thought it was the perfect way to send him off. So I thought it'd only be fair if we did the same for you, so you could have the same feeling I had. To not do anything for you would've been a _grave_ mistake." She chuckled lightly, immediately ceasing after noticing the daggers the others were suddenly glaring into her. "Sorry, bad time, I know," she said, face red and tone sheepish.

"We were kind of at a loss for a rhyme in a couple places, and maybe it came out kinda corny," Lynn said, "but you get the idea, right?" Lucy did. She found not even the faintest hint of hidden malice or quasi-sympathy in her sister's tone, not even if she tried to convince herself that was the case as she did that morning, when it was just the two of them alone in their room. At that moment it hit her that Lynn truly was sorry for her. All of her siblings were.

She couldn't hold it back anymore. For the second time that day, Lucy collapsed.

It started slow, but after only a few seconds there was no more composure or attempts at self control. All that gave way to openly weeping on the ground in the fetal position with her chest heaving, not caring how undignified she looked. A tiny voice in the back of her head told her to bring her veil back over her face so the others couldn't see her, but mostly her mind became almost like a black hole, empty of thoughts as all her feelings were externalized in her weeping.

Lynn wasn't much bigger than her roommate, but effortlessly she lifted Lucy into her embrace, allowing her little sister to sling her arms around Lynn's neck and press her sobbing face into the crook of Lynn's strong shoulder. Snot and tears and drool pooled in equal measure onto the sleeve of Lynn's dress, but the older girl didn't care.

Lucy found herself then entombed in a knotty tangle of arms; though she couldn't see anything with her face buried she knew at once that the others had rushed to her side as well as soon as they saw her fall. Soft shushing and soothing reassurances that it would all be okay echoed around her as her back, shoulders, and head were patted and rubbed, nine voices and twenty limbs working in tandem as though they belonged to one organism.

"It's okay Lucy," Lynn said, "I've got you, just let it all out…"

"I-I'm n-not s-supp-posed to cry like th-thi-this," Lucy answered back in a hiccuping sort-of voice, her breaths short and rapid, "I-I'm th-the f-f-funer-a-al d-director…" It was the kind of nonsensical exclamation that only made sense to those deep in a fit of grief.

"Yeah, well, you're also eight years old," Lori said, her voice soft, "I don't think anybody's judging you for crying."

For a little over half an hour they stayed like that, enveloping their sister as her wailing continued with an intensity like her tear ducts had only just become uncorked after so many years and everything she had ever held back was allowed to flow free. The only other sound for a while was a soft humming lullaby-like version of Amazing Grace started by Luna that some of the others joined in as they rocked her back and forth in their cradle of arms and hands. Even when Lucy took her face away from Lynn's shoulder as she started to calm down, she could see no light penetrating the cage of limbs she found herself in. Not that she minded; she loved the pitch dark. It was why she slept in a coffin, after all.

She read once of honeybees swarming invading hornets and vibrating rapidly to cook them alive, and as she felt her body sway in the nest of her family's embrace she couldn't help but feel like one of those hornets, albeit in a pleasant way. The collective body heat emanating from her family's hug warmed her heart, just as Fangs did whenever he crawled into bed with her. It was nice to know that even with him gone she could still feel warm.

Finally the river of tears ran dry and was reduced to a few stray sniffles and deep gasps as she composed herself again. The others backed away and Lynn set her sister back on the ground, making sure to hold her hand as she tried and succeeded at standing on her wobbling legs.

"Feeling better?" Lynn asked.

"A little," Lucy said. Her face was still red and puffy and her voice still cracked a bit, but otherwise she seemed back to her usual self. "I just…I didn't think you guys cared."

"Of course we care, Lucy," Leni, voice tinged with sadness but still as sweet as ever, assured her, "You're our sister. You mean the world to us."

Lincoln bent down on his knees and placed a firm hand on Lucy's shoulder, looking at her straight in the eyes, or at least where he guessed her eyes were. It all of a sudden struck her how much she looked to him for strength. She remembered how he was always there for her, helping her with her poems and letting her know how perfect she was just being herself. She sometimes forgot such things. "Fangs may have been a good pet," Lincoln said, "but he wasn't your only friend. He was just one of the many who love you."

"I love you all too," Lucy said. It wasn't often that she verbalized it, but as it escaped her mouth she could feel how much she meant it. Were it not for the fact that her little episode seemed to dehydrate her, she'd have started crying yet again.

"Do you want to keep going with the funeral now, or take a little break?" Lori asked. By her tone, so gentle and compassionate, Lucy knew there would be no judgement whichever decision she made.

"Let's finish it now," Lucy said with resolve, her strength slowly returning. "For Fangs."

"For Fangs," the others all said in unison.

They formed a line by the grave, oldest to youngest except for Lucy at the very end. One by one they all took a handful of dirt piled up by the hole to toss in on top of the coffin. By the time Lily crawled up with her tiny fist clutching a few clods of soil, Fangs' casket was submerged in a layer of loose earth. When it was finally Lucy's turn, she hesitated, staring down into the grave one final time, hoping to transfer as though by psychic energy all of her feelings into the dirt clutched in her grip. She wanted Fangs to know her gratitude for having him in her life and how much she was going to miss him. In the end all she could do was open her hand and let the soil fall, then sweep the rest of the pile into the grave and pat it down, allowing her friend's body to be reclaimed by the earth.

"Rest in peace, Fangs," she whispered.

And so he did.

* * *

Three weeks later she did as she had done every day since the time of the funeral and went out to the backyard to the burial site to pay her respects, where slowly but surely the grass was starting to grow back. She doubted flowers would ever grow there, only because the spot was always in the shadows from the overhanging branches and leaves. Somehow that seemed like something Fangs would've wanted anyhow, she ultimately decided. He was, after all, nocturnal, and thus had a preference for where there was no sunlight. Besides, Lucy knew that as his casket and body decomposed over the coming months and years his essence would become absorbed into the roots that tangled around him. Then he would become one with the tree. The thought made her smile.

Just then like a camera flash firing off in an instant, a simple rhyme appeared in her head:

 _Where once you hung in branches upside down  
_ _Now you're buried beneath the ground_

She hadn't done much writing since the funeral, but now she couldn't get that stanza out of her mind. There was definitely something there, she felt. It could use some work, but it wouldn't be too hard to make something out of the rhyme.

She decided to return to her room to channel this newfound bit of inspiration into a new poem, one far more worthy as tribute to Fangs than the one she wrote three weeks earlier. Sure, the one her siblings wrote was charming enough, and it did give her that sense of closure Luan wanted her to feel, but Fangs was so wonderful to her that he could never have too many poems written in his honor. She could see it then; she'd climb into her bed with a pen and notebook and scrawl for hours on the page, not stopping till she produced a masterpiece. She was feeling particularly motivated as she walked back inside to do just that.

The best part was that even with Fangs no longer with her on the mortal coil, it turned out that her bed wasn't as cold as she feared it would be without him.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Thank you for reading. _


End file.
